


What Hurt More

by icarusforgotten



Series: spideypool secret santa 2013 [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nightmares, but still mentions of gore, dont want anyone to get triggered, feelings of hopelessness, not really that graphic, some mentions of brain splatter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusforgotten/pseuds/icarusforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was having a dream. A nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hurt More

**Author's Note:**

> secret santa gift fic for summer-sausage.tumblr.com

He was having a dream. A nightmare.

Peter was denying everything they’d been through. Their relationship. Said it was just an experiment. To get intel. To bring him closer to the Avengers. Get his trust. Get his guard down.

Only it wasn’t a dream.

Peter stood amongst the other heroes, back stiff and intimidating, arms crossed over his chest at sharp angles as he glared at Wade, face unreadable through the mask. There was a no-nonsense vibe coming off his stance. It made him want to vomit.

Because this thing that they’d had – this _charade_ – was the only thing keeping him going. Was the only thing that made his pain remotely bearable, that gave him the slightest edge of hope that he _could_ be a better person, that he _could_ have the happiness others dream about that had been denied to him time and time again. And it came crashing through his skull with gut-wrenching realization that this had all been a beautiful and elaborate lie.

He wanted it back.

“Wilson, are you listening?” Peter’s stern voice cut through his thoughts. It sent chills down his spine. Hearing his name come off those lips. Those same lips that kissed him tenderly when he struggled with the need to die, to breakdown and flee this world. The same lips that cooed gentle reassurances and praise, slowly taking him away from the edge of darkness when he was hitting emotional rock bottom. The same lips that cried out his name, cried out those stupid three words that tied his gut in knots and left him light headed and hoping, always hoping, in the quiet moments when they were making love.

"Your services are no longer required." Captain America stepped in beside Peter, voice cool as a stone in the night, abandoned right before the slow, teasing rise of a promised sun.

"Petey … " he tried.

"Don’t. Don’t even use my name, Deadpool."

And that right there hurt worse than the first time he saw his ugly face after the whole Weapon X fiasco. It hurt worse than the bullets he craved to spray his brain across the wall. And even then it hurt after everything else stopped to exist for what seemed like too short a time.

—

Wade jolted awake. His heart was threatening to jump out his chest, sweat running down his back like a river. The buzzing in his head droned with a painful pulse before it finally slowed down, calming to the regular background mocking of his boxes, their rhythm slow and sharp and in tune with the stinging of his marred flesh.

There was a quiet cough beside him.

He turned his head hesitantly, eye straining to adjust to the dark.

Beside him slept Peter, peaceful with his face turned into the pillow. He looked so painfully beautiful with his hair sticking out all over the place. It made Wade choke on his own ragged breath.

The possibility was there. It had never left.

And Wade didn’t think he could risk his nightmare becoming reality.

He did the only thing he could think of.

Quietly, so as not to wake Peter, Wade slipped out of the bed. He tugged his clothes on, packed whatever he could and headed for the door.

"Wade?"

Damn. He was so close.

"Babe, come back to bed. Where are you off to in the middle of the night?" He sounded so sleepy. Wade chanced to take a glance. He knew he shouldn’t have.

Peter was sitting up in the bed, head cocked to the side, a worried frown etched deep into his brow.

And he couldn’t. It was just too fucking hard.

He dropped his bag and stumbled back into Peter’s arm, whimpering his name. Peter held him tight and whispered quiet reassurances in his ear, pressing gentle kisses to his face and shoulders.

And he didn’t know what hurt more.

The inevitability of what his mind kept telling him would happen.

Or the fact that he was prisoner to Peter’s love and couldn’t do a single thing about it.


End file.
